


Sleeping On The Floor

by Soul4Sale



Category: South Park
Genre: Action Scenes, Character Death, Christophe is a kinky mofo, College Ages, Eric Cartman/Wendy Testaburger - Freeform, F/M, Genderbent Butters, Hetero, Jealousy, Kenny McCormick/Marjorine Stotch, M/M, Minor Drug Use, Multi, One-Sided Stan Marsh/Kyle Broflovski, Porn With Plot, Stan Marsh/Gregory of Yardale, Underage Drinking, Will update as things come up, fem!Butters, mentions of gore, occasional porn, undercurrent of fake relationship stuff, yaoi/gay/slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul4Sale/pseuds/Soul4Sale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, love finds you when you least expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping On The Floor

**Author's Note:**

> So… My old South Park inspiring band came on tonight, and I just felt the need to do something about it. This came to me, and I’m pretty excited about it.

“Argh, this French faggot food is so crappy…” Eric Cartman groused as he shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. As much as he complained, he still cleaned his plate every time, and Kyle was often seen rolling his eyes as he ate his own meal. 

“If you don’t like it, why do you keep stuffing your face, Fatboy?” Stan questioned with a raised eyebrow, “Most of the time, you even order _more_...”

“Shut it, you fuckin’ hippie faggot.” Came the returned growl as he hunkered over his dish a bit more protectively and ate with somewhat more fervor.

“Eh, stupeed whiny beetches.” That thick French accent caught Kyle’s ears, and a sense of familiarity flooded him and had his head turning to locate the man who no-doubt owned it. When green eyes finally settled on a muscled, darkly tanned body with messy, brown hair, he felt his heart flutter a little. With his attention diverted, however, a rather angry resident fatass slammed his meaty hands into the table.

“Ah, Kyle, you Jewish asshole, I was talking to you!” He shouted, narrowing his eyes and practically foaming at the mouth.

“Huh? Oh, uh… Shut up, fatass.” He murmured, and suddenly Stan was glued to his side and trying to see just what had stolen his attention so easily. When he caught sight of _him_ , he let out a long sigh that he quickly covered with a chuckle. That seemed to jar Kyle from his thoughts, and he coughed quickly before glancing back at the table. If he was honest, he had to admit that the look in Kenny’s eyes was slightly worrying.

The blonde rose silently, giving a single finger in a ‘wait here’ gesture, before heading over to the table Kyle had been staring at. A few minutes later, the brunet and his blond friend were on their way over, and Wendy had to gasp.

“G-Gregory?!” Wide eyes locked for a moment and the Brit smiled a little.

“Ah, greetings, Wendy. Stanley, Kyle, Kenny, Eric.” He smiled rather sweetly, and there were at least two stomachs at the table that flipped and fell onto the floor. But it was the next introduction that caused Kyle’s to erupt with fluttering wings.

“Are zese friends ov jours, Greegory?” The Frenchman questioned with a frown, flicking his cigarette off in Cartman’s half-demolished pie, which prompted some screeching whines from him. 

“Wait, you don’t remember us?” Kyle questioned, slightly downhearted. Those dark eyes, like pools of mud, turned to him and something clicked; a rugged smirk worked onto the mercenary’s face and he offered a smooth purr.

“Ov course I deedn’t vorget jou, Kyle.” 

“Ay! This is so fucking _gay_!” Cartman spat, immediately getting an entire cancer stick in his chocolatey goodness. “AY!”

“So, Kenny tells us you all are on a tour of Europe?” Gregory cut in, as though to smooth the situation over.

“Yeah, so what?” Stan immediately jumped to the defensive, though seconds later he was disarmed by a surprisingly calming smile.

“He also told us you don’t have anywhere to stay.” He offered, “We have a place for rent, but you would have to be with us.” 

“No w--”

“We’d love to stay with you, Gregory.” Wendy smiled sweetly, shoving Cartman over and seeming proud of herself. 

“Well?” Christophe added after a moment, looking directly at Kyle, as though his opinion was the only one that mattered.

“U-uh…” A little lost for a moment, busy seeing just how much the Frenchman had _grown_ , he blinked quickly and nodded, “Y-yeah, sounds good to me.” Though Stan frowned a little, it seemed everyone was already filing out of the booth to follow Christophe and Gregory to their place. With Wendy footing the bill this time around, the group followed their new roommates to their cars.

Well, Gregory’s car. Christophe appeared to have arrived on a motorcycle that had Kyle’s heart thudding in his chest. Watching as the other teen paused in his tracks, Kenny grinned and elbowed his friend.  
“You should ride with him, dude.” He told him quietly, “Stan’ll follow your lead, he always does.” Winking, he smirked as he shoved the redhead _literally_ into Christophe’s back.

“Ah, jou want to ride weez me?” The dirty brunet seemed pleased, grinning down at the younger male and offering another slightly flirtatious look. It seemed Kenny had read them both entirely right, as he was wont to do, and Kyle’s shaky, uncertain smile was taken as nervous excitement. “‘Op on.”

The knot in the redhead’s stomach only grew to an insurmountable pit as he was handed the only helmet on the death machine he was about to climb onto the back of. Watching one strong leg swing over the chassis, hips scooting back a bit with every intention of caging in the small Jew close to the frame. Patting the spot in front of him with rough, gloved hands, the leer he offered enough to get the rigid teen moving, plunking down with his knees together before firmly (but gently) being guided to straddle the rumbling beast below him. He’d been so caught up in staring that he’d missed the little detail of the engine turning over, and Gregory and the rest of their friends already having peeled off. 

“Jou know,” The Frenchman’s voice was a purr in his ear that had a shock wave zinging down Kyle’s spine, “Sometime later, per’aps et will not be my bike zat jou are straddling.” 

The little yelp at that was barely muffled in the helmet quickly tugged over his red curls, and for a moment he was certain that he heard the smallest of defeated sighs leave the elder. Of course, that could have been a figment of his imagination, considering the wall of muscle that lined up against his back, kindly bending him forward until his chest was almost parallel with the seat. Pressing as close as possible, Christophe revved the engine a few times before taking off. At first, Kyle had no idea where to put his hands, but they settled for digging into those tanned arms, a scream on his lips as they bobbed and weaved through the lighter evening traffic. 

Between one blink and another, however, it seemed that the adrenaline kicked in, because what had terrified him seconds ago now filled him with a sense of freedom. His mother wasn’t looming over his shoulder, he didn’t need to worry about being home at a certain time to study for finals, he didn’t need to think about Ike and where he was… He could just be free, pressed between a brick wall of a man and the grumbliest bike he’d ever had the pleasure to see and feel. The vibrations combined with Christophe’s weight nearly on top of him had his mind pacing faster than the motorcycle as they took a corner so fast he could have sworn they were parallel to the ground.

All too soon it was over, the growling between his thighs seemed to just drop off into soundlessness, and for a second, the Jew was certain he could hear the other panting behind him. Taking a chance, he scooted his hips back a little, but before anything could really be discovered, he heard a familiar voice that left him cursing quietly.

“ _There_ you two are!” Gregory laughed, aiming for casual and missing the mark by a thousand and one miles, “We were beginning to worry. You needn’t impress your tardiness on our dear Kyle, my friend.” He offered, playfully punching Christophe’s arm once he was dislodged from the boy on his bike. The mercenary quirked a brow, his stare icy as he silently wished a meteor would fall from the sky and crush the blonde. Hell, even a satellite or maybe a particularly nasty chunk of blue ice would do the trick, but no such occurrence seemed likely, so he sighed in frustration, instead.

“Greegory, jou know I like to go fast.” Something about the way he said it left Kyle with ruddy cheeks as he pulled the helmet off and his hair flopped back into its usual, wonderful mop. Brown eyes had a hard time staying off of those locks, and he knew his fingers itched to bury themselves in it, so he busied his mind with something more important. “We should feegure up the lodgings. Et es getting pretty late.”

“Right.” Gregory nodded, turning, “Well, there are two clear couples,” He gestured to the two blondes standing awfully close to one another, the small girl beside Kenny’s long and gangly form looking almost comically flustered by his hand up the back of her dress. Then, his hand pointed to Cartman and Wendy, who bickered quietly enough about something or another, before continuing, “That leaves Stanley and Kyle to share a--”

“Kyle es welcome to stay in my room.” The quick claim seemed to startle the four of them, because even Christophe looked puzzled that he’d spoken out of turn. It was Kyle’s flaming cheeks that pushed him back a bit, “Unless he would razar stay weez Stanley.” The malice in his eyes belied the calm, almost sheepish tone of his voice and he fought wrapping a protective arm around the Jew.

“Well… If Kyle would prefer your bed to our guest room, I can hardly stop him.” Gregory shrugged, “That would put Stanley alone on the couch, with the other two couples in the guest rooms.” 

“I wouldn’t--” Kyle began, before the ‘you just ran over my dog and backed up to do it again’ expression on his best friend’s face sunk in and he shook his head, “I couldn’t take up with someone after just meeting them. I’ll stick with Stan, tonight.” He could have sworn he heard a French curse from slightly behind him, but Gregory clapped his hands.

“Excellent. We have a pull-out couch that you two could share, if you don’t--”

“Mind being totally _gay_.” Cartman interjected, watching Wendy stomp off with her luggage towards the door to the small house the two were renting. It seemed his argument hadn’t gone very well for him, because she refused to let him get her alone.

“The small space shouldn’t be such a problem. We’ve shared a bed on and off since we were little.” Kyle offered kindly, and Christophe felt himself growing a little more jealous, even if he couldn’t put his finger on why. With everything settled, the group made their way for the door, Christophe fishing his keys out of one of his many pockets, unlocking it and letting them in.

The foyer was small, looking directly at a staircase that would go up to the rooms. A small table and mirror were off to one side, and a small closet for coats and the like was to the right. Forward and to the left was the den, the kitchen beyond that, the dining room around back with a sliding glass door to the backyard, and then a bathroom just off the right beside a garage. For being a smaller house, it still was enough to get Kenny’s attention, and as Gregory showed everyone to their rooms, leaving Christophe with Kyle and Stan, the redhead felt his stomach flip again as a rough hand rest against the small of his back to get his feet moving forward.

“Zis weell be jour room, for now. I’m sure we could set up somezing in ze basement tomorrow, eef jou decide to stay.” The Frenchman almost sounded apologetic, “Are jou ready to sleep? I weell probably be up most of ze night, eef jou need anyzing.” 

“I’m beat.” Kyle offered, stretching his arms wide above his head and yawning to punctuate the thought, “I am definitely ready for bed.”

“I could sleep.” There was some kind of smugness in Stan’s voice as he finally offered to help get the bed pulled out, moving the coffee table and working silently with Christophe to get things ready for Kyle’s use. Perhaps they both had that end goal in mind, but the silent glares and French cursing did little for the redhead’s impatience. By the time that the bed was all made up, however, it seemed he’d fallen into Christophe’s favorite, overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, head pillowed on the armrest, snoring away. The Frenchman managed to lunge forward first, scooping him up and placing him delicately on a pillow.

“Bonne nuit, Kyle.” He whispered, eyes boring into Stan’s as he brushed aside a few curls against the smaller male’s forehead, pressing his lips to a freckle he found there. Seconds later he was gone, and Stan was almost thankful for that. Had he stayed much longer, he probably would have gotten decked. Yawning behind his hand, the inky haired male flopped back on the pull-out bed and closed his eyes as he settled the blanket over his hips, and, by extension, Kyle’s. Absently, he reached for his best friend’s hand, rubbing his thumb over that thin wrist, and he sighed. It would be forever until he could wash the sight of Kyle pinned to that stupid, dangerous Man Machine by that even _stupider_ French asshole out of his mind’s eyes, if only for the dumbstruck look left on his friend’s face. 

Karma would hit hard, when it did. Or, at least, that’s what Stan hoped for.


End file.
